


Wanting

by deedeeinfj



Category: The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society (2018), The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society - Mary Ann Shaffer & Annie Barrows
Genre: F/M, First Time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-04
Updated: 2018-09-04
Packaged: 2019-07-07 02:10:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15898794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deedeeinfj/pseuds/deedeeinfj
Summary: Ye olde first-time. What additional summary do you need?





	Wanting

**Author's Note:**

> My first work in this fandom, so be gentle. It works with both the book and the movie, though there is one element from the movie specifically, and Juliet is more book-like (I think).

The Society celebrates her engagement to Dawsey with all the love and warmth – and food and gin – she might have expected, and Amelia insists on keeping Kit the next day: “I was once young and in love, and you two deserve the time alone. Enjoy each other.”

So Dawsey meets her the next morning with one hand holding a large basket and the other offered to her. She threads her fingers through his and raises his knuckles to her lips, and then they walk together to the shore. He has packed a few books, scones, and a soft, worn blanket, which he spreads over the sand.

Juliet watches as he sits, crosses his extended legs at the ankles, and smiles up at her, eyes squinting a little in the early morning sunlight.

“What is it?” he asks.

“Nothing,” she says. “I’m just looking at you.” 

She toes off her shoes and kneels beside him on the blanket, stroking his jaw as she draws his face closer. Their lips touch, sweet and soft, and she sighs into him.

“God, I love that,” he whispers.

“What?”

“That sound you make.”

She grins. “Kiss me again, and you can hear it again.”

To her great surprise and pleasure, Dawsey cups the back of her head in his hand and pulls her in with clear intent. She braces her hand on his chest and sighs again without even thinking about it. He tastes like coffee, and she licks at his top lip, wanting more of him.

He pauses and draws back a little.

“Dawsey?”

“I’ve never done this before,” he says. He slides his fingers over the side of her neck and watches the movement as if afraid to look into her eyes. “You’re the only woman I’ve ever loved. The only one I’ve ever kissed.”  

She thinks she understands what he’s telling her: that he isn’t sure what to do, that he’s afraid he will disappoint her. She leans in and draws his bottom lip into her mouth, relishing the rumble she feels beneath her hand on his chest. She traces his captured lip with her tongue and curls her fingers into his shirt as he meets her tongue with his own. Their slow, tentative give-and-take builds and builds until she finds herself perched in his lap, her knees on either side of him, her arms so tight around his neck that she wonders if she’s squeezing the very life out of him. But he’s got plenty of life in him, judging by the strength of his hands at her back and waist.

“Juliet,” he breathes into her mouth.

“Yes, Dawsey,” she replies as she starts exploring the line of his jaw.

“We—we should…”

She wonders if his stutter has returned, but quickly realizes that he’s simply out of breath and overcome.

“Oh,” she says. “Yes.”

She laughs a little as she shifts over to sit beside him, tucking her mussed hair behind her ears. Dawsey’s cheeks are flushed, his lips are red and plump from her greedy kisses, and his hair is standing all on end. And his eyes – his eyes are alight and happy, though their colour is darker than usual. She intends to see him this way as often as possible. Judging by the way he’s looking at her, their thoughts aren’t far apart.

“Think of all the times you could have done that before now,” she grins.

“It wouldn’t have been as good as that.”

“What if I’m the worst kisser in the world? You’d never even know.”

He laughs and touches an errant strand of her hair. “Should I go out and see before I commit to marrying you?”

“No, I’m not sharing you now.” She lies down and tucks one arm under her head. “What did you bring to read?”

“Chesterton, Sayers, Austen.”

“Which Austen?”

“ _Persuasion_ , of course,” he says, indicating the sea with a pointed nod.

“If the Sayers is _Gaudy Night_ , I’ll marry you,” she says.

Without a word, Dawsey reaches into the basket and shows her the book, its yellow jacket obviously worn from use.

She beams at him, feeling rather ridiculously in love. “Have you read it?” she asks.

“Not yet.”

She sits up, takes the book, and opens it to the first page. Dawsey rests back on his hands and listens.

 

* * *

 

They return to his house for lunch only moments before a light drizzle makes everything outside look softer and smell sweeter. Juliet hugs her arms to herself as she watches the rain from the open door. The breeze feels good.

“Dawsey?”

“Yes?” he replies from the kitchen, where he is setting out a simple lunch of bread and meat and cheese that all smell delicious.

She joins him, walking into his arms and offering her lips, which he gladly covers with his own for a few brief, lovely moments. “You said you had written me a letter about how you felt.”

“Yes.”

“Will you let me read it?”

He hesitates. “It’s very badly written. The scrawling of a man who was too full of feeling to think clearly.”

“Well, I’m too full of feeling to judge harshly,” she says, tracing his brow with her fingertips.

He smiles and ducks his head in that way of his, and she finds herself smitten all over again. “All right,” he says. “After lunch.”

She is impatient, but her stomach agrees with Dawsey.

After they have eaten, he leads her to his bedroom and opens a drawer in the nightstand while she glances over the simple room. It smells like him. The bed is unmade, but the white sheets look clean and inviting. He hands her the letter and sits on the edge of the bed, leaning forward and clasping his hands.

With shaking hands, she unfolds it, his now-familiar and beloved handwriting greeting her like an old friend. Like her future husband.

 

> _Dear Juliet,_
> 
> _I hardly know what to write. No, that isn’t it. I know exactly what to write. But I don’t know how to put it into words. There have been so many times when I should have. Austen let Captain Wentworth express himself in a letter. “You pierce my soul,” he wrote. “I am half agony, half hope.” I am always amazed by the economy with which she can express such deep feeling. Perhaps I can do the same and limit myself to three words: I love you. I love your clever mind and loving heart. I love your letters. How many times have I picked them up to read and reread? I love your passion and your laughter. The prospect of never hearing your voice again, never opening a new letter, never holding you – it is unbearable to me.  If this letter ever makes its way into your hands, I pray you will forgive the disjointed thoughts of a man who can barely think with wanting you. I pray you will forgive the presumption that you might ever want me to say such things to you. But, above all, I pray that you will “tell me not that I am too late.”_
> 
> _Yours, in every sense of that word,_
> 
> _Dawsey_

She lowers the paper and sets it aside on his nightstand before walking up to stand in front of him. She tilts his chin up so she can see his face. “You want me?” she asks, running a hand through his hair. He blinks slowly at the feeling, like a contented cat.

“You already knew that I love you,” he says.

“Yes, but wanting is different.”

“Is it?”

“Oh, yes. Loving is emotional. Wanting is physical. Loving is like having a favorite food. Wanting is being _hungry_ for that food.” She unclasps his hands and steps between his legs, placing her arms on his shoulders.

“We just ate,” he says, his eyes crinkling even as his hands settle on her waist and tug her closer.

She leans down to kiss him, feeling certain that she will never tire of this man’s mouth. The things he says, the way his lips move on hers. She wants to watch his mouth kiss every part of her. And she wants to kiss every part of him.

“Do you want me right now?” she asks.

At first, it doesn’t seem that he will answer, as though he thinks it might be a trick question to test his virtue. But then he says, “I’ve wanted you almost every moment since we met.” He swallows. “I wanted you even before I loved you.”

Something about this raw honesty, this glimpse of him as a man instead of an angel, makes her blood pound.

“Dawsey,” she whispers, lost for words.

“And what about you, Juliet?” He stands and holds her close – so close. God, he smells good. “Do you want me?”

“Almost every moment since we met. And every moment for the last few weeks.”

They smile at each other, and the seconds might be minutes because she has lost track of time. She lowers her arms and fingers the edge of his shirt. “Can I…?”

He helps her pull it over his head and then stands still as she smooths her palms over his chest and shoulders. She traces his collarbone with her fingers, then leans in to press kisses there. His skin is warm, and she can feel his pounding heartbeat beneath her lips. She kisses her way up his throat to his mouth, and he responds with all the passion she knows is inside him. It thrills her.

In a blur of movement and time and rational thought, she has removed her shirt and is reaching around to unhook her bra when Dawsey stops her.

“We don’t have to do this now,” he says.

“I do, or I’ll combust.”

He laughs, and so does she. Then his face is serious again. “Juliet.” He caresses her cheek with his thumb.

“Do _you_ want to wait?” she asks, suddenly realizing that his reluctance might not be to protect only her virtue – not that she has any puritan ideas about that herself. She rather hopes he doesn’t, either.

Their eyes meet. “No,” he says.

She unhooks her bra and lets it fall. She watches his face as he takes her in, then steps in to press her body to his again. _Heaven_ , she thinks as his hands slide up her back and pull her close.

She gives a little cry as he kisses his way to her ear and nips the lobe with his teeth.

“Sorry, did I—?”

“No, no, I liked it, please,” she says, wondering if it might be possible to climb up and inside a person.

She slides her hands between them and fumbles for the button of his trousers, but he steps back decisively, his breathing labored.

“Stop.”

“Oh,” she says. “I’m sorry. I thought you wanted… I thought we…”

“It isn’t that, Juliet. I don’t want to stop this.” He motions between them. “I need to do this right. Make sure I… take care of you. And if you… I won’t be able to.” He curses under his breath. “I should have written this in a letter, too.”

She understands him, and her heart swells with affection for him. “No example to follow in Jane Austen for this, though,” she says, and it has the desired effect: he laughs.

“No, I imagine Mr. Darcy was in perfect control of himself.”

“I much prefer my Mr. Adams.”

Dawsey smiles at her with such adoration, and then his gaze falls to her breasts and turns into lust, and she _loves_ that both of these things live in him, between them. He covers her breasts with his hands, squeezing a little, learning the feel of them. He circles a palm over one stiff point and seems to enjoy that sensation. Then, to her surprise, he kneels in front of her and puts his mouth on her. She holds his head to her and says a mix of his name and nonsense as he kisses and licks and nibbles. She is vaguely aware that she might be pulling his hair out.

He is speaking, too, murmuring “so soft” and “so beautiful” and “Juliet.”

He fingers the button on her trousers and looks up at her for several moments before she realizes that he is waiting for permission.

“Please,” she says.

He unbuttons them and starts to push them down, and Juliet helps, impatiently pushing her knickers down with them. His breath catches as she steps out of the pile and kicks it aside. He looks like a worshipful sinner at the feet of the madonna, but she abandons all religious notions when he curves his hands over her hips and leans forward to kiss her belly. He even dips his tongue into her navel, making her giggle like a girl.

“Lie down on the bed,” Dawsey says, his voice rougher than she’s ever heard it.

She does what he asks, expecting him to join her, but instead he shifts forward on his knees, lifts her legs over his shoulders, and puts his mouth on her. She’s heard of this act, of course, but is rather shocked to find it being done for her. By _this_ quiet and simple man, of all people.

It feels strange at first as he kisses and explores her. But then his tongue touches that part of her where pleasure is concentrated – she knows her body well enough – and the sound she makes is so loud and unfamiliar that she doesn’t immediately realize it’s her own voice.

Dawsey lifts his head at her reaction and says, “Yes?”

“ _Yes_ ,” she moans, and his face actually lights up in a smile. “Please don’t stop.”

“Never again,” he says, returning to his task.

He works methodically, learning what pleases her and what doesn’t. Whenever he gets a strong response, he hums with satisfaction, and that makes it feel even better. The sight of him doing this gives her almost as much pleasure as the physical sensations. She finds herself directing him, whether because she found the courage or because he has driven her past caring, she cannot say. At some point, he slips a finger inside her body, then two.

Her muscles feel out of her own control, which is frightening. Her thighs shake, and she forgets to breathe, and her fingers flex into fists in those clean, white sheets. It’s all so overwhelming that she wants to tell him to stop, it’s too much, she can’t… she can’t…  

And then the most blissful release! She leaves the earth with his name on her lips.

When she returns to her body, she opens her eyes to see his face. He smiles and kisses her, and she tastes her own flavor instead of his. She prefers the taste of Dawsey, but she doesn’t mind this.

“I thought you had never loved a woman,” she says slowly, still hazy with physical and emotional euphoria. Love and wanting. Love and lust. Dawsey “my God, yes” Adams.

“I haven’t, but I read books, and men talk.”

“Please thank them for me,” she says. He laughs at that and hugs her close, and she remembers that she wants to make love to this man today. Every day, really, but starting today. “Will you take those trousers off now?” she asks.

“What if you get pregnant?”

“We’ll be married in a week, and I want your baby.”

He sits and turns to remove the rest of his clothing, then stretches out again beside her. She’s afraid to look at him just yet, which makes her feel like a girlish coward. They kiss for a long time, his leg sliding between hers as his body moves over her. She can feel the hardness of him against her belly, and while he is kissing her neck, she gathers her courage and reaches down to touch him. He moans and pushes into her hand, and it is almost as exciting as publishing her first book. She loves the feel of him, the skin so unexpectedly soft.

“Dawsey,” she says quietly.

“Juliet.”

“I love you, and I want you.”

He is careful with her, and it doesn’t hurt, but it does feel very strange.

“All right?” he asks.

“Yes. Does it feel good?”

He gasps a laugh. “Yes. I think this will be over as soon as I move.” He strokes her face. “This part will get better. I promise.”

She doesn’t see how anything could be better than having this man next to her, inside her, with her always.

“Go ahead, love,” she murmurs, stretching up to kiss him.

And he’s right: it is soon finished. But it is also just beginning.


End file.
